


It's raining on prom night

by elanorelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorelle/pseuds/elanorelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Kurt and Blaine miss prom, cuddle a lot, and Blaine's cardigans are the subject of great scrutiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's raining on prom night

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of the remark Darren made in the "Prom Queen" behind-the-scenes vid about being grounded the night of his Senior Prom. Spoilers for all aired episodes. Warnings for some homophobic language and mentions of violence: all of it brief and within the context of memory.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name in _Grease_.

Getting himself grounded three days before Senior Prom was arguably not the smartest thing Blaine had ever done.

Perhaps it wasn't the _stupidest_ thing he'd ever done, either (he felt pretty sure the incident at the Gap still held that particular honour, although believing Puck when he said the brownies were just brownies was also a strong competitor), but right now it definitely felt like it was in the top five.

Blaine had his phone in hand as he lay dejectedly on his bed, in the hope that he might hear something from Kurt, but the screen remained silent and dark in a manner Blaine imagined to be faintly accusatory. He and Kurt hadn't actually spoken since lunch today on account of Blaine having to come home immediately when he got out of last period, and Kurt hadn't responded to any of his messages so far. It was a little disheartening, because Kurt really seemed to have taken in stride Blaine's complete and total failure at being a good boyfriend (one who didn't get grounded before the most important social event of their high school careers), but his lack of response now suggested that maybe he hadn't been as okay with it as he'd made out.

Blaine's phone did buzz with a new text while he was still holding it, but it was from Puck, saying: _dude this sux whos gona spike the punch w/ me now??_ Blaine didn't remember actually agreeing to help Puck spike the punch in the first place, but he didn't have the heart to say anything and he figured it was all moot, now, so he just sent _I'm sorry. :(_ in response, and then tossed his phone down on the bed in frustration.

He thought about checking Facebook again, but he'd already done that a dozen or so times tonight, including once about ten minutes ago, and nothing there had changed. His newsfeed still consisted almost entirely of excited chatter about prom (with the exception of three or four posts from Wes, who seemed to be in the middle of some kind of essay-related hell and kept updating everyone on his current word count), most of which only served to make him feel even worse, and Kurt's status still looked the same as it had for the last three days: _**Kurt Hummel** is full of ennui_ , it said, which was so very _Kurt_ that it was almost enough to make Blaine smile in spite of everything.

Someone had posted on his wall earlier, but it had just been Alicia from the debate team saying while she was really sorry that Blaine couldn't make it tonight, his spare ticket now meant that she could bring _both_ of her dates along, and wasn't that awesome?

Blaine spared a moment to consider how much it was going to suck not seeing Alicia trying to get _two_ boys in past the teachers at the ticket desk, and then went back to brooding over Kurt.

He just … he wanted to know that Kurt was going to have a good time at prom: that Blaine's idiocy wasn't going to end up ruining the night for both of them. If he _was_ suddenly pissed off at Blaine for this whole thing then that was _fine_ , but Blaine just wanted to know he'd be okay. Their friends would be there, even if Blaine wouldn't, and Kurt deserved to have at least one (hopefully) good prom experience, something that might even be more likely if Blaine _wasn't_ there with him, as depressing as that thought might have been.

His phone buzzed again and Blaine scrambled for it, but when he checked the message it turned out to be from his mother.

 _Blaine, do you want any dinner? I can bring something up if you don't want to come down. -- Mom (P.S. That music is awfully loud.)_

She'd been bothering him since she got in from work at five-thirty (early for her, and Blaine wondered if that was in order to keep closer tabs on him tonight), calling up the stairs and asking him if he wanted any food, so that in the end he'd turned up the volume on his iPod speakers and blasted out the original cast recording of _Notre Dame de Paris_ in the hopes that she'd get the message and leave him alone. Apparently all it had done was inspire a change in tactics, however, and _god_ sometimes Blaine really thought that parents shouldn't be allowed cellphones that could text because this was just _embarrassing_.

He dropped the phone again and grabbed the remote so he could turn the music down to a quiet murmur, then buried his face in the pillow with a groan.

Quite apart from his worry over Kurt's lack of communication, being grounded was just _boring_ , it turned out. Blaine had been home for hours and exhausted most of the activities his bedroom offered up (at least when Kurt wasn't in it with him, some small but extremely libidinous part of his brain chipped in helpfully) including homework, desk reorganisation and the aforementioned visits to Facebook, as well as some lengthy violin practice, which had mostly consisted of tunes so mournful that he'd had to stop to keep from depressing himself any further. His parents hadn't actually said anything about him being confined to his room when they'd grounded him, but being around them tonight just felt like too much hard work, so he'd decided to stay up here and hope they didn't insist on him joining them for dinner or anything.

Judging by his mother's most recent text it didn't sound like they would, but you could never tell with Blaine's parents.

He turned his head to the left and glanced at his watch: 7:36pm, which meant he had almost three hours left until he could say he'd officially missed Senior Prom. He considered getting the half-empty bottle of Nyquil he knew was in the bathroom cabinet and just spending the rest of the evening in a pleasant doze, but before he could drag himself up and off the bed, he heard footsteps out in the hall, brisk and light – his mother, then – followed by a sharp knock at the door.

Blaine scowled and buried his face in his pillow again. "I told you, Mom, I'm not hungry, all right?"

"If that's a new pet-name you're trying out, I'm here to tell you it's not really working for me."

Blaine pulled his head up from the pillow so fast his neck twinged painfully because that voice? Definitely not his mother's.

"Kurt?" he asked, hesitantly, because the time was now ... 7:39 and surely Kurt should have been at prom already? Also, Blaine hadn't really been grounded too many times before, but he always figured that "no guests" usually came as a standard part of the deal.

Nonetheless, Kurt made an affirmative noise from the other side of the door and Blaine was so, _so_ confused. "Kurt, what—" he started to ask, but Kurt cut him off before he could finish.

"Is there a reason you're trying to make us have this conversation through the door?" Kurt sounded amused, or exasperated; possibly both, because they seemed to come hand in hand as a response to a lot of the things Blaine said and did. "Like, have I disturbed you in some kind of compromising position? 'Cause, you know, if there's something you like that you're not comfortable telling me about then we should really—"

Blaine flushed, thinking of his parents just downstairs. The living room was too far away for Kurt's voice to really carry, but still. "Oh god, just stop talking and come in already," Blaine said, sitting up on the bed so he didn't look quite so pathetic when the door pushed open and Kurt stepped inside.

He looked completely flawless, as always, but in a casual way; if casual was even a word one could ever use in reference to Kurt Hummel. He was definitely not dressed for prom, in any case, because his outfit consisted simply of skinny jeans and this amazing long green sweater that Blaine knew from personal experience was super-soft and therefore absolutely perfect for snuggling up against, unlike a lot of Kurt's wardrobe.

Not that Blaine kept track of Kurt's clothing and its relative suitability for prolonged cuddling sessions. That would be weird.

Kurt's shoes were off already (the day Cristina Anderson let anyone wander around upstairs with their shoes on was the day Blaine ran for the hills because the end was most definitely nigh) and there was always something so disarming about seeing Kurt standing there in just his socks, knowing that whatever look he'd been going for today, it had almost certainly been effectively ruined by the removal of his footwear. Somehow, Kurt looked more naked this way than when he had no clothing on at all.

He closed the door behind himself (Burt Hummel would not have approved: Blaine's parents had never really cared one way or another) and set his bag down over by Blaine's desk. When he looked up at Blaine, there was a soft smile on his face, but he didn't say anything, and Blaine still really had no idea what was going on.

"Kurt," he said, "what are you doing here?"

Kurt just gave him a _look_ and replied: "That's how you're saying hello to me, these days?"

Blaine shook his head and rose to his knees. "No," he said, "No of course not, it's just— sorry, hi," he finished, lamely, and awkwardly crawled forward until he was at the edge of the bed and he could reach out to pull Kurt into his arms.

They hugged for a long moment, then Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt's neck and pulled back enough to say, "Hi," again, before kissing him properly.

Kurt smiled at him afterwards and said, "That's more like it," without actually offering up a hello himself, Blaine noticed.

He figured pointing that out might be more trouble than it was worth, though, so instead he just sat back on his heels, letting his arms slip down to rest around Kurt's waist and saying: "I'm sorry, it's just— I mean, shouldn't you be at _prom_ right now? And how the hell did you get past my mother anyway? Are you secretly a ninja and you've just never told me?"

Kurt chuckled – a light, airy sound – and brought one of his own hands up to rest against the back of Blaine's neck. "Nope, not a secret ninja," he said. "Though I have to say the all black ensembles do appeal."

"Then how—"

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, your mom just let me in. I mean, I figured your parents might not want me here when you're grounded, so when your mom opened the door I had a whole speech prepared to try and convince her, but then she cut me off before I could get into it and just told me to leave my shoes in the coat closet. Like I didn't get the message the first five hundred times," Kurt pursed his lips in irritation, which was a reasonably common occurrence when he was talking about Blaine's parents. "She seemed kind of distracted, actually. Said something to your dad about place settings while she was heading back into the kitchen."

That was when Blaine remembered something that would also explain why his mother had been home early from work. "They're having people over for dinner tonight," he said. "My mom probably thinks you being here is the surest way of preventing me from making a scene in front of their friends."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Were you likely to make a scene?"

"No," Blaine said. "But my mom hates fuss, she probably wasn't willing to take the risk. She's been knocking on my door since I got home from school, asking if I want any food, because it wouldn't do to have me making a sandwich right when they're serving up dessert or anything."

"I seriously do not get your parents," Kurt said.

Blaine shrugged. "Neither do I, and I've lived with them for eighteen years."

It was a joke, but the truth of it was also slightly depressing. He knew Kurt understood by the way his fingers tensed up a little on Blaine's neck, and rather than let the moment drag out into awkwardness, Blaine got back to the matter in hand.

"So, prom," he said, and Kurt nodded. "You're not there."

Kurt rolled his eyes and said: "Your powers of observation are truly astounding. Remind me never to play you at I Spy."

Blaine decided not to dignify that with a response, instead asking: "Why aren't you at prom, Kurt?"

Kurt shrugged casually, like it was nothing, and said: "Turns out I didn't have a date," which was kind of exactly what Blaine was hoping he _wouldn't_ say.

"Kurt, that's not—" Blaine started, trying not to sound too frustrated because really he figured Kurt should have the monopoly on that tonight. "That didn't mean you had to miss it, too, you could still have gone with the others. With Finn and Rachel, and—"

"Mercedes and Sam, Mike and Tina, Brittany and Santana?" Kurt finished for him.

Blaine nodded.

"Mmhm, because being the third wheel to, like, ten different couples while my own boyfriend sits at home and mopes is exactly how I always imagined my Senior Prom," Kurt said, his hand rubbing gently at the back of Blaine's neck and then slipping down slightly to rest just underneath the neck of Blaine's t-shirt.

Blaine shook his head in protest. "Not everyone's part of a couple," he insisted. "Raj was going stag, for one."

"Raj had at least four girls lined up to dance with him, last I checked, and even if he didn't I can think of better ways to spend an evening than listening to his ideas for _Snoop Dogg: The Musical_ for the hundredth time."

"Says he guy who spent all of last summer composing _Pip Pip Hooray_ ," Blaine said.

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "Yes, well," he said. "At least mine had class."

"It also had a song that rhymed the word 'class' with 'ass', in case you've forgotten," Blaine pointed out, helpfully.

"See, okay, now I'm starting to think that I should just have left you here to mope, after all," Kurt said. He took his hands off of Blaine and made as if to step back, out of Blaine's grasp, but Blaine just gripped tight at the fabric of Kurt's sweater and pulled him in closer before he could.

"Seriously, though, Kurt," Blaine said, as earnestly as he could manage. "You should be there. I didn't want to ruin this night for you, too."

Kurt just looked at him, tiny furrow between his brows that Blaine wanted to reach up and smooth away. "I don't know why you seem to think I'd want to be there without you. Would you have gone without me, if I'd been grounded?"

"No," Blaine said, without any hesitation. "Of course not, but that's diff—"

"It's not different," Kurt said, firmly. "Not different at all. Tonight was supposed to be about you and me being together, and I'd rather be _here_ missing prom than be at prom and missing you, so."

And there wasn't really anything Blaine could say to that, because he knew if their positions were reversed he wouldn't even have _thought_ about going to prom tonight, but he also knew that Kurt had been far more invested in this evening than Blaine had been, and that he was probably a lot more disappointed than he let on. When Blaine opened his mouth to say as much, though, Kurt got there first.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he said with a long-suffering air. "So that you'll shut up about this, okay?"

Blaine just barely got in a nod before Kurt leaned in and pressed their lips together, with enough force that Blaine had to put one hand down on the bed in order to stop himself toppling over backwards. Then he realised that was a stupid idea; _the worst_ , in fact, because being horizontal would be _so much better_ , and so he just let himself fall back, dragging Kurt down with him.

Kurt hummed in what might have been protest, but he came willingly enough and they ended up lying side by side, their legs tangled together companionably.

They kissed for a few minutes, lazy and soft, nothing heavy, before Kurt pulled his mouth away and just pressed his face up against Blaine's neck, breathing in deeply. "Couldn't do this at prom, anyway," he said, voice muffled and his breath ghosting up against Blaine's skin. "I like this better than prom."

Blaine did, too, of course he did, but the fact was this was something they could do pretty much whenever – did do, as often as they possibly could – and Senior Prom was more of a "once in a lifetime" opportunity, one that Kurt had been going on about for _months_ and Blaine still felt like the worst boyfriend _ever_. He said as much to Kurt, who snorted indelicately and rolled over onto his back, scooting up so he was sitting propped against the headboard. Blaine stayed where he was, just shifting a little closer to Kurt so he could twist his fingers up in the fabric of Kurt's sweater again.

"Oh, please," Kurt said. "I think you know perfectly well that both Finn and Puck have you beaten in that regard."

"Still, I feel terrible, Kurt," Blaine said, fervently. "I can't believe I— I'm just sorry I fucked tonight up so badly."

"Hey," Kurt said, voice suddenly soft. One of his hands came to rest on Blaine's head, his fingers carding through Blaine's hair, which still wasn't all the way dry after the shower he'd taken earlier. "Blaine, come on, you didn't fuck anything up. It was just bad luck. And even if it wasn't, it would be as much my fault as yours."

Blaine frowned up at Kurt. "How do you figure that?" he said.

Kurt gave him the look he usually reserved for when people around him were being exceptionally slow and stupid, which was a look Blaine probably didn't get directed at him as often as he should have. "Remind me why you got grounded, again?" Kurt said.

"I broke curfew," Blaine said, "and my parents decided to care, for once." He left out the fact that he was fairly sure what his parents really cared about was the way Blaine kept saying the words "college" and "New York" and "Kurt" all in the same sentence, and they didn't like that idea anymore now than they had when Blaine had first told them he wasn't applying for any of the schools on his dad's "approved" list except Columbia. He couldn't remember ever fighting as much with his parents as he had in the last six months, and never, _ever_ as badly as the other night. Kurt didn't need to know that, though, especially not now, so Blaine didn't mention it.

"Yes," Kurt said, "and why did you break curfew? What could possibly have caused you to do that?"

Kurt smiled down at him, through his lashes, and Blaine suddenly got where this was going. To his supreme mortification, he felt his face heat up in response, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, trying to avoid looking Kurt in the eye.

"You know why," he murmured. "You were there."

"Yes," Kurt said, "I was, which is kind of my point, actually, but now you're all squirmy and embarrassed and adorable, and I want to see if I can get you to say it."

Ironically, and in spite of the initial baby penguin débâcle, it was Blaine who found himself frequently incapable of talking about sex when he and Kurt weren't actually, like, on the verge of having it (or else right in the middle of it, at which point it was all Kurt could do to get him to shut up, quite honestly). Kurt, it seemed, had grabbed the whole concept of "maturity" with both hands, whereas Blaine more often than not was the one who found himself turning bright red and stammering like an idiot. It wasn't that he was _embarrassed_ about it, or _nervous_ (at least not anymore), it was just that it still felt like such a big thing, talking to each other about this. Big and intimate and _important_ , so much so that Blaine found it hard to believe it was really happening, least of all with _Kurt_ , who was beautiful and brave and more put-together than Blaine would ever be, no matter how hard he pretended.

Kurt was still looking at him expectantly, so Blaine cleared his throat and said: "We were ... you know, doing stuff. Together. And then there was— _that_ and then we, I don't know, lost track of time, or whatever."

Kurt laughed, then, just outright laughed, and Blaine turned his face to bury his head in the pillow, wondering if maybe this time he should just leave it there for the remainder of the evening. "Okay, we're done talking about this now," he said, though it sounded kind of pathetic even to his own ears.

"Aw, honey," Kurt said, and his fingers started to pet softly at Blaine's hair again. "You know I love your blushing virgin bit."

"Not a virgin," Blaine said emphatically, because it had been a grey area for a while now but after the other night any doubts they both might have had on that score were definitely, _definitely_ gone.

"True," Kurt said, amused. "You are blushing, though."

And Blaine couldn't argue with that, so he just twisted his head to the side again and glared up at Kurt instead.

"Okay, let me put it another way," he said. "I missed curfew because I was being horribly distracted from the time by my boyfriend shamelessly taking the last of my innocence from me." Even as he said it, he could feel himself starting to smile, that weird bit of nervous tension in his gut dissipating and being replaced by something much more pleasant.

" _I_ took _your_ innocence?" Kurt said, and he was probably trying to sound scandalised but the grin he was sporting pretty much ruined the effect. "Excuse me, but I think we could probably say it was the other way round, considering the logistics of the event itself."

Blaine's own smile grew, and he tugged gently at Kurt's sweater in the hopes that Kurt would get the hint and lie down with him again. "Ah, but the whole thing was your idea," he said. "I just wanted to cuddle."

Kurt made an indignant noise. "You most certainly did not!"

"I did!" Blaine said, still grinning, both hands on Kurt, now, snaking round his waist to pull him back down and closer to Blaine. "I said that I just wanted to cuddle and talk about our feelings but you were all 'Blaine, Blaine, I must have you now!'"

"Okay, seriously, you are _making_ this _up_."

Blaine shook his head emphatically. "Nope, it's true: you're a cruel, heartless seducer, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt batted at Blaine's hands, but it was a token protest at best and he ended up horizontal next to Blaine pretty quickly, even as he was saying: "God, you are so delusional, I don't even know why I put up with you."

"My extensive collection of musicals on blu-ray," Blaine said, matter-of-factly. He kissed Kurt on the shoulder and then pressed his cheek lightly against the fabric of Kurt's sweater. It really was _very_ soft. "Also, you love me," he added, for honesty's sake.

Kurt didn't even get snippy over the fact Blaine was rubbing his face all over what was probably a very expensive sweater, but just huffed out a little sound that was half a laugh and maybe half a sigh, and said: "Yeah, that must be it."

They lay there peacefully for a few seconds, then Kurt shifted slightly further down on the bed and turned on his side so that he and Blaine were eye to eye.

"It's ironic, though," he said, smiling that soft little half-smile that made Blaine want to kiss him. To be fair, all of Kurt's smiles kind of induced that reaction, but this one was particularly effective.

Blaine resisted the urge, though, at least for now, and asked instead: "What's ironic?"

"The fact that in our bold efforts to avoid the horrible cliché of sex on prom night, we ended up missing prom altogether," Kurt said, his head close enough to Blaine's on the pillow that their noses just barely touched.

Blaine laughed softly. "That's true," he said. "It's like the universe is punishing us for refusing to conform to cheap high school stereotypes."

Kurt nodded slowly. "You know how much I hate stereotyping," he said.

Blaine mumbled in assent. "A lot," he said, "You hate it a lot," which was a really dumb answer but it was hard to think of anything more intelligent when Kurt's face was this close and this lovely.

"Mm," Kurt murmured. "Exactly." He looked a little sleepy, now, his expression slack and heavy-lidded, and Blaine was struck again by the desire to kiss him, only this time he didn't bother resisting: he leaned in and pressed his lips up against Kurt's, let his hand come up to rest softly against Kurt's jaw, the slope of his neck.

Kurt breathed out a sigh, soft and contented, as he opened his mouth to let his tongue slide up against Blaine's. He clenched his hands into fists against Blaine's chest a few times before letting one slip down to rest lightly against the bare skin of Blaine's stomach, exposed where his t-shirt had ridden up a little.

Blaine angled his head to deepen the kiss, grazing his teeth against Kurt's lip as he did so. He felt as well as heard the shaky little whimper Kurt let out, and though it was a sound he'd become pretty familiar with, it still made Blaine's insides turn to liquid just to know that he was the one who invoked it; the only one, in fact, who had ever even _heard_ it because in this, as in so much else, so far they belonged only to each other. With increasing frequency, Blaine found himself hoping that would remain true for ... well, for as long as was humanly possible, if only so that no one else would ever get to hear that sound and see the faint creeping blush that accompanied it. Blaine didn't much like the idea of giving up guardianship of that, now or ever.

They kissed for a while: long enough that Blaine could feel himself getting hard. He knew that Kurt must be able to feel it too where their hips were snugged up together tightly, and all Blaine wanted was to follow that through to its inevitable conclusion. Maybe not quite _all the way_ through, so to speak (though that was an option now -- that was something they _did_!), but maybe Kurt's hand or his mouth or just anything, really; maybe just grinding together like they were already starting to, slow little rocking movements that were sending tiny sparks of pleasure shooting up and down Blaine's spine.

He was idly starting to wonder whether or not Kurt's pants were the expensive kind that meant they needed to get undressed before they went any further, when Kurt inexplicably pulled back from their kiss and said: "We should stop."

Blaine made some vague murmur of disagreement and then leaned in to press his lips up against Kurt's neck, instead, worrying at a hickey he'd already left there so that it would be good for another few days. Kurt would give him hell for it later, but he figured it was totally worth it. When his mouth travelled lower – kissing the base of Kurt's throat, trailing over his collarbone – Kurt said, "Blaine, seriously, we have to stop," and started pushing at Blaine's chest, trying to get some distance in between them.

Blaine frowned and pulled back just enough to meet Kurt's gaze. "Why?" he said, and as he wasn't actually annoyed, more fondly bemused, he added: "Is going all the way on prom night really too much of a horrible cliché for you to contemplate?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, first of all, we aren't actually going to prom, so technically, as far as we're concerned, this is just another Friday night. Second of all, I don't think prom night sex counts for much unless you're doing it for the first time, which we wouldn't be."

Blaine blinked a little in surprise at how much Kurt had apparently thought about this. "So, what's the problem, then?" he asked.

"Well, how about the fact that your parents are _right downstairs_ ," Kurt pointed out, though it would have been a more effective argument if he hadn't been letting Blaine pull him back in, slowly but surely.

"They have _guests_ ," Blaine said. "They're _entertaining_. Seriously, Kurt, there's no way they're coming up here tonight."

It was, of course, as soon as Blaine had said this that there was another sharp rap at the door, and this time the voice saying Blaine's name very definitely belonged to his mother.

Kurt rolled out of Blaine's embrace and sat up all in one graceful movement, arranging himself, Blaine knew, so that if Blaine's mother came in she would see a respectful house guest rather than a boy who had just had his hands all over her son. "You were saying?" he murmured under his breath.

Blaine was pretty sure her intention wasn't to actually come in, though, so he just stayed where he was, sprawled out on the bed, a little awkwardly now that he wasn't tangled up with Kurt. "What is it, Mom?" he asked, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"I brought you boys some food," she said. "Andrew and Cynthia have just arrived and the other guests will be here soon, so if you are planning to come downstairs at all this evening, please make sure you're dressed for company."

"Yeah, okay," Blaine said impatiently.

"Thanks, Mrs. Anderson," Kurt chimed in, polite as always.

There was a moment's silence, then Blaine's mother said: "You're welcome, Kurt," before they heard the sound of her heels clicking away from the door and down the stairs.

"We're not, are we?"

Blaine looked up at Kurt in confusion. "Not what?"

"Planning on going downstairs," Kurt said. He looked a little flushed, but that was it: Blaine's hard-on had effectively disappeared as soon as his mother had started talking (and it was amazing, really, how that worked like a charm every time), but he still felt stupidly warm and turned on, and he was having trouble comprehending why, exactly, Kurt thought they'd be going downstairs to spend time with Blaine's parents, as if spending prom night in Blaine's bedroom wasn't already bad enough.

"No," Blaine said. "Not unless you want to spend the whole evening making awkward small talk with my dad's golf buddies. Why do you ask?"

"Because I didn't bring a change of clothes with me, and this," Kurt gestured to the outfit he was currently wearing, "hardly counts as 'dressing for company.'"

"I think you look fine," Blaine said.

Kurt smiled at him indulgently. "You only say that because I'm wearing your favourite sweater."

Blaine felt himself blush: he thought he'd been pretty subtle about his appreciation for Kurt's knitwear, but apparently not. "No, it's just— you always look great, no matter what you're wearing. Anyway, what she really meant," Blaine said, rolling off of the bed and onto his feet, "was please don't come downstairs looking in any way like you just rolled out of bed. Which I kind of actually did, so."

"So we're definitely not going downstairs."

"Definitely not," Blaine said, and went to retrieve the tray of food his mother had left outside the door. He took it over to the desk, intending to leave it there, but Kurt made a protesting noise and patted the bed beside him, so Blaine reluctantly brought it over and set it down between them on the mattress instead.

"I assume this means we're not picking up where we left off?" he asked, sadly, watching as Kurt started lifting lids and peering at the various bits and pieces Blaine's mother had left them.

"Probably for the best," Kurt said airily. "Besides, not even sex is a good enough excuse to pass up your mother's cooking."

Blaine begged to differ, quite strongly, in fact, but it seemed the matter was closed for now, and so he just settled back on the bed next to Kurt and said: "I think my dad's the chef tonight, actually."

"Ooh, even better," Kurt said, uncovering what looked like that couscous thing he'd raved about the last time he'd come over for dinner. He sighed blissfully and then looked up at Blaine. "Your ability to burn cereal seems even more incredible in the face of this."

Blaine frowned. "Nobody _burns_ cereal, Kurt. That doesn't even make sense."

"If anyone could find a way, sweetie, I'm sure it would be you," Kurt said, patting Blaine gently on the hand before he served himself a little of the couscous and some kind of vegetable stew that went with it. "Remember the Hot Pocket incident last summer?"

"Yes, well," Blaine said, darkly. "We agreed we wouldn't talk about that anymore."

Kurt hummed distractedly and took a delicate mouthful of food, at which point he made a noise that sounded vaguely obscene and said: "Oh god, it's even better this time around. Do you know if he added the white wine vinegar like we talked about before?"

Blaine just stared at him blankly (because he had _no idea_ , seriously), but Kurt didn't seem to care too much. He scraped up another forkful of the couscous and held it out in front of Blaine's face. "Honestly, Blaine, you have to try this."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he said, at which point his stomach naturally decided to make a liar of him, loudly.

Kurt just raised one eyebrow and held the fork out a little more emphatically.

The couscous wasn't bad – Kurt acted like it was a terrible affront that Blaine didn't think it was the single greatest thing ever, but considering the way Kurt all but devoured the rest of the bowl himself, Blaine didn't think he really minded – but there was a lamb casserole and a creamy potato dish that Blaine was much more interested in, now that he'd realised how hungry he actually was.

They ate mostly in comfortable silence: Blaine's music had long since finished, so that all they could hear were patter of rain on the window and the murmurs and sounds that came filtering in from downstairs. There was the occasional booming laugh that Blaine thought belonged to his dad's friend Gerald, who on more than one occasion had made a point of telling Blaine about how he had a friend in college who'd thought he was gay right up until he met his wife, and how he'd been "right as rain" ever since. Not that he thought Blaine would necessarily be the same, but still, _something to think about, eh?_ Blaine's parents always pursed their lips and changed the subject as quickly as they could, but that didn't mean Gerald came over for dinner any less.

Just as they were finishing up, Kurt's phone beeped with a new message: he wiped his hands neatly on one of the heavy cloth napkins Blaine's mother had provided and then got his phone out of his back pocket to check it.

After a second, he huffed out what Blaine took to be a laugh of disbelief and said: "So, it seems that Figgins let them have the slushie machine there tonight after all."

Blaine stared at him. " _Seriously_?" he said. "That's crazy."

Kurt shrugged. "That's McKinley. You should know that by now."

"Has anyone been—" Blaine started, but it didn't take more than that for Kurt to know what he was driving at.

"No," Kurt said, "not yet. The Bully Whips are keeping an eye on the dispenser, apparently, looking out for troublemakers."

Blaine tried not to let the relief he felt – a sudden, strange gratitude to his parents for keeping him at home tonight and away from _that_ – show on his face or in his voice, but he felt it nonetheless, because he knew that no matter how badly he'd screwed up, here, neither he nor Kurt would be ending tonight covered in slushies, and that was something. Out loud, he just said: "Still, that seems like a really stupid idea."

Kurt hummed noncommittally and started tidying up the remnants of their dinner. "Are you finished with that?" he said, indicating the bowl of salad Blaine had been picking at for the last few minutes: Blaine nodded and handed it over. When Kurt had everything piled up neatly, he carried the tray over to Blaine's desk and left it there.

Blaine figured that Kurt would come and lie down with him again, so that they could at least get back to cuddling even if Kurt couldn't be convinced to do anything more than that. When Kurt reached the bed, though, he only sat down on the edge of it and stared at Blaine's bedspread thoughtfully: obviously he had something on his mind. Blaine positioned himself to sit up against the headboard, rather than flopping back down on the bed, because being horizontal was good for a lot of things involving Kurt, but serious conversation wasn't one of them.

Sure enough, after a few long seconds of silence, Kurt looked up and said: "It wouldn't have been any different this time, would it?"

Blaine didn't need to follow Kurt's gaze to know what he was probably looking at: on the wall above his desk, Blaine had a fairly extensive collection of photographs, a great many of which predictably featured Kurt in some respect. In the middle of it all was their prom photo from last year, the one Blaine knew also stood framed on Kurt's dresser back in his own room. Looking at it always gave Blaine a little bit of cognitive dissonance – he'd remember the thrill of dancing together, of having their picture taken, the way the evening had ended with them falling asleep (almost fully clothed and with the door wide open) on Kurt's bed and how they'd woken up next morning just the same, blinking in the sunlight at one another.

At the same time, however, he couldn't help but think of the heavy silence after Kurt's name had been read out, the looks and sneers and not-so-accidental bumps on the dancefloor, and the long walk back across the parking lot afterwards, Blaine holding Kurt's hand hard enough to bruise and not drawing in a proper breath until they were safely in the car with the door locked.

That was the stuff Kurt was remembering, Blaine knew. What he was imagining might have happened all over again, no matter that McKinley had almost half an anti-bullying policy now, and that Coach Sylvester had been keeping such a tight rein on the nominations for prom king and queen it was a wonder the candidates got any votes at all.

"If by 'different' you mean 'better', then no, probably not," Blaine admitted. _Maybe it might even have been worse_ , he didn't add, and for a moment his mind went further back and brought up the memory of blood in his mouth and a knee pressing into the small of his back and the feel of gravel, rough against his cheek, a voice saying _how'd'ya like that, fags?_ over and over and over again. "I still wish we'd been there, though," he said, and meant it. "No matter what might have happened."

"Yeah?" Kurt said, softly, and his gaze finally flicked over to meet Blaine's. "Thought you might have been glad things worked out this way."

Blaine frowned. "Why would you think that?"

Kurt shrugged and pulled his legs up underneath him on the bed, angling his body more towards Blaine. "I know you weren't wild about going, after what happened last year, and … before that. Not that I blame you, I just ... I don't know, I figured you were only going because I asked you to."

"I asked _you_ , this time, if you remember," Blaine said, sounding a little more defensive than he meant to. "I don't see how you could forget, I kind of did it in front of the entire glee club."

"No, I know," Kurt said, shifting a little closer on the bed. "I know you did, I only meant ... you would have been just as happy _not_ going at all, and I feel like I was kind of pushing you into it, and now it's like: what if this year had been exactly the same as last year? What if it had been _worse_?" Kurt swallowed, looking almost stricken, and Blaine's thoughts slipped back again, briefly, to the way Josh's eye hadn't healed for weeks, the first cry of _cocksucker_ before he'd known what it felt like to have his nose broken by the sharp crook of an elbow.

The image passed, and he reached out to take Kurt's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over Kurt's knuckles, the skin there soft and smooth. "If it had been worse," he said, "or better, or exactly the same, I still would have wanted to be there with you. I won't pretend I wasn't nervous about it, or that I'm not a little relieved we get to spend tonight together without the possibility of taking a slushie to the face—" Kurt huffed out a short little laugh, at that point, and Blaine could feel the weight of the moment lifting, "—but I asked you to go to prom with me because that was what I wanted to do, no other reason, and I really wish we weren't missing it right now."

"Me too," Kurt said, quietly, gripping back at Blaine's hand more firmly. "Though I agree with you about the slushies. That outfit took me two months to complete, I can't bear to think of it all covered in corn syrup, forever ruined." His voice caught a little bit on the last word, and Blaine knew it was only partly in jest.

"That would have been awful," Blaine agreed, and tugged gently on Kurt's hand until Kurt finally relented and fitted himself up against Blaine's side, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder. "I promise I would have put myself in front of you and tried to take most of the damage, if it had happened."

"My hero," Kurt said, fondly, and Blaine could feel his smile even if he couldn't see if from this angle.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Kurt sighed and shifted so that they were cuddling properly; arms around each other and one of Kurt's legs draped over both of Blaine's.

Blaine rested his cheek against the top of Kurt's head, breathing in the clean, faintly citrus scent of his shampoo. "So, does this mean I don't get to see the fabled prom ensemble?" he murmured. "'Cause I was really looking forward to that."

Kurt pulled back enough to give Blaine an unimpressed look and say: "Are you kidding? One doesn't spend that long putting together something that fantastic only to never let it see the light of day." He rested his head back against Blaine's shoulder. "No, I'll have to think of some other opportunity to wear it. Maybe your graduation party: that's going to be ridiculously formal, right?"

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "You do remember my last birthday party? At one point I thought my mother was actually going to make me wear _gloves_."

Kurt hummed softly: Blaine thought he probably had his eyes closed. "Mostly I just remember the cake with a picture of your face on it," he said.

Blaine groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a dull _thud_. "Oh god, don't remind me. I've never been so embarrassed in my life."

"Mm, you tasted delicious, though," Kurt murmured into the skin of Blaine's neck, and even though Blaine knew he was talking about the cake, the blatant innuendo still made Blaine's stomach dip pleasantly.

"Well, I'm glad one of us enjoyed it," Blaine said, letting his left hand come up to tangle in Kurt's hair, soft at the back where he hadn't used any product.

Kurt hummed again in response before falling quiet, and Blaine took a moment to just enjoy the way Kurt's body felt against his, heavy and warm, his breath fanning out over Blaine's collarbones as his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Blaine was quite seriously considering closing his eyes and just drifting off a little, sleeping away the evening like he'd been planning earlier (only now with his boyfriend for company, which made the activity _much_ more appealing), when Kurt cleared his throat and said: "So, we're not at prom, we're not going downstairs to share what would undoubtedly be a _scintillating_ evening with your parents and their friends: what _are_ we doing tonight?"

"Can't we just do this?" Blaine said, giving Kurt a demonstrative squeeze.

"No," Kurt said firmly. "No, we can't."

Blaine pouted a little, his eyes still halfway shut. "Why not?"

"Because you'll fall asleep."

Blaine considered denying it, but there really wasn't much point, so he just said: "Is that a problem?"

"Yes," Kurt said, sitting up and pulling away from Blaine's arms. "Whatever else I might tell people about my senior prom night in years to come, I'm certainly not going to say that I slept through it."

Well. There went that idea, then. Blaine rubbed a hand over his face and made some alternative suggestions. "We could watch a movie," he said. "Or we could play The Sims. We never finished decorating Sim Blaine and Kurt's dream home." In their case, "playing The Sims" largely involved Kurt building and decorating some fabulous abode for the – always immaculately attired – Sims they'd chosen, before he lost interest and Blaine was left to actually play through the remainder of their weird little lives, until Kurt eventually got bored of watching and demanded that Blaine find some bizarre way of killing them off so he could make a start on a new building project.

"No, I'm still lacking inspiration for the colour theme in the breakfast nook," Kurt said, scrunching up his nose in thought.

"We could go on Facebook and detag ourselves in all those terrible photos from Santana's pool party?"

Kurt just hummed distractedly: usually he'd jump at the chance to keep his Facebook photos limited to just those shots he considered acceptable, and so Blaine took his lack of response to mean that he had something else in mind. Following Kurtœs gaze to see where it lay, Blaine found himself looking at … oh god, at his _closet_.

"Kurt," Blaine said, warily. "Why are you looking at my closet like that?"

Kurt tilted his head the way he always did right before he was going to say something Blaine might not especially like. "Well, I was just thinking: wouldn't this be a great time to re-evaluate your cardigan collection?"

Blaine frowned. "What's wrong with my cardigans?" he said.

"Well, nothing _really_ ," Kurt said, with an extremely worrying glint in his eye. "Most of them are _fine_ , it's just that there are maybe a couple you might want to reconsider."

"Mmhm, and you're going to tell me which ones?"

Kurt shrugged in what was probably supposed to be a nonchalant way, but the glint in his eye was still there. "I might have a few ideas, yes," he said.

Blaine sighed: he really liked all of his cardigans, was the thing, but letting Kurt run wardrobe interference was a sure fire way to keep him happy, and Blaine kind of figured a couple of items of knitware was the least he owed Kurt for the way this evening had turned out. "Fine," he said. "But just the cardigans this time. Pants and shirts are off-limits."

Kurt only rolled his eyes and scooted around Blaine to clamber off the bed.

It turned out, perhaps unsurprisingly, that the strength of Kurt's approval for each particular cardigan seemed directly proportional to how much involvement Kurt had had in their original purchase (Blaine could hardly help but notice that the heather grey cashmere Kurt had given him for Christmas didn't even get brought out for consideration), but still, a lot more went back in the closet than were added to the pile on Blaine's bed, and that was something. Not to mention that all Blaine really had to do was sit on the bed and just enjoy watching Kurt bend and stretch and hold his tongue between his teeth while he considered one cardigan and then the next, his face schooled into an expression of intense concentration that Blaine found adorable and sexy in equal measure.

It was altogether an excellent arrangement, as far as Blaine was concerned.

By the time Kurt had gone through pretty much everything, there were five cardigans in the "ditch" pile: a saggy brown affair Blaine didn't even remember owning (probably it had been something his grandma knitted for him long ago, because it didn't look like it would actually fit him, now), two that were nice enough but which it turned out had been bought at The Gap (Blaine must have missed them that time he went through his wardrobe and purged any and all items he'd ever bought there), a green one Blaine rather liked but which Kurt had taken against so strongly that it didn't seem worth Blaine's while to fight for it, and one that was a bright yellow colour which apparently made Blaine look like an Easter chick.

"You told me to buy that one," Blaine pointed out. "You said it 'popped.' I had to buy it or you would never, _ever_ consent to go shopping with me again."

"Even I make mistakes, Blaine," Kurt said testily. " _Clearly_ this is one of them."

He turned his attention to the very last cardigan he hadn't yet appraised. It seemed to give him a moment's pause when he pulled it off the rail, and Blaine wasted no time in saying, quite firmly: "You can't get rid of that one."

Kurt frowned at it and Blaine thought he might be about to list a bunch of reasons why Blaine _had_ to let him get rid of it, but then he just asked: "Remind me again when you've ever worn this?"

"Last year," Blaine said. "After— the day after you guys got back from Nationals."

Kurt's frown disappeared and was replaced by a soft little 'o' of surprise. "Right," he said. "We were at the Lima Bean."

"Yeah," Blaine said, nodding a little nervously.

"Then we went looking for sheet music for your Six Flags audition and all your song choices were horribly inappropriate."

"They were not," Blaine said indignantly.

"They were, Blaine, and that is why no one will ever hire you to sing in front of little children ever again."

"They didn't hire me to do it in the first place," Blaine said, more bitterly than he would have expected. Apparently he wasn't as over _that_ little disappointment as he'd thought.

"I know, baby. Life is hard," Kurt said soothingly. He went back to looking at the cardigan. "You know, I can't recall ever having seen you wear this again."

Blaine shrugged. "You said that red wasn't my colour. And the fabric is kind of itchy anyway."

"But you still kept it."

"Yeah," Blaine said, and there wasn't much more that he could add without coming across as a ridiculous sap. Which, you know, he kind of was, but there was no need for him to labour the point.

Kurt just looked at him a second, considering, then looked back down at the cardigan and said: "It's missing a button."

Blaine was about to open his mouth and tell Kurt no, that getting rid of this particular cardigan wasn't an option – not if it was missing _five_ buttons or possibly even an arm – when Kurt ran his fingers over the remaining buttons, saying: "I think I have one that might match it pretty well, at home. I could sew it on for you."

Blaine wondered, not for the first time, where exactly this boy had come from and how Blaine had got lucky enough to have him. "That would be good," he said, smiling gratefully at Kurt. "You don't need to look for one that matches, though, I should still have a spare."

Kurt tilted his head quizzically to one side and said: "A spare?"

"Yeah," Blaine said. "You know, they usually give you a spare one, when you buy the cardigan in the first place?"

Kurt raised one eyebrow, elegant and perfectly shaped, just like the rest of him. "Yes, I'm aware," he said, dryly. "But, I mean, you've kept them?"

Blaine nodded. "Well, yeah," he said. "They're in a box on the bottom shelf there. You might have to search to find the right one," he added as Kurt pulled the box out and opened it to reveal the mess of buttons that were within, "but it should be in there somewhere."

Kurt just stared at the buttons blankly for a second. Then he put the lid back on the box and laid the box to rest on top of the cardigans now piled up neatly on Blaine's dresser, before he came and sat next to Blaine on the bed again.

"Couldn't you find it?" Blaine started to ask, but before he could get the whole sentence out, Kurt leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Usually, when Kurt kissed him, it was softer than this – or dirtier, depending on the situation and the mood Kurt was in – but this kind of intensity was rare and strange. Kurt had kissed him like this when they'd gotten home after Junior Prom; on the day Blaine had told him he was transferring to McKinley; three nights ago when they'd been about to lose the last of their collective virginity, and Kurt kissing him was basically the only thing that had kept Blaine from falling apart before they'd even begun.

Blaine couldn't think of any reason for Kurt to be kissing him like that _now_ , though he was sure there must be one: Kurt didn't bestow kisses of this kind lightly.

When it was over, Blaine asked, a little dazedly: "What was that for?"

Kurt pressed another kiss to the corner of Blaine's mouth and said: "The buttons," which didn't make much sense at all.

"What about the buttons?"

"You kept them," Kurt said, as if this explained everything.

"Well, yeah," Blaine said. "Don't you keep spare buttons?"

"Of course _I_ keep them, Blaine," Kurt said, with the voice that he used when he wanted to suggest Blaine should be grateful for his boyfriend's infinite patience. "That's the kind of thing I do. But most boys wouldn't."

Blaine slipped an arm around Kurt's waist. "I'm not most boys," he said, giving Kurt what he hoped was a very charming smile.

"Believe me, I've noticed," Kurt said, and though his tone was largely exasperated, there was the barest hint of a shiver to it that made Blaine want to pull him closer; to fit their bodies together again and feel the way Kurt's breath came quick and shallow from his chest.

Blaine leaned in so that his mouth was barely half an inch away from Kurt's and let his voice drop to a lower register. "I also keep all my dress shoes in their original boxes so as to avoid unnecessary scuffing."

Kurt snorted with laughter, which wasn't quite the reaction Blaine had been going for, and pulled back so that their faces were further apart again. "Is that supposed to turn me on?" he said, still laughing.

"I don't know. The button thing seemed to," Blaine said, unable to keep from sounding a little sulky.

"Yeah, well," Kurt said, his eyes shining with mirth and something softer as well. "Buttons are important."

Blaine sighed and let himself flop backwards onto the bed so he was lying sideways across it. "If you say so."

"I do," Kurt said, and he stretched out on his side next to Blaine, laying his arm over Blaine's chest and propping his chin up on Blaine's shoulder. "I also say that you're amazing, and sweet, and I love you. Like really, really a lot."

Blaine grimaced. "Even though I caused us to spend our Senior Prom sitting in my room sorting through cardigans and talking about buttons?"

Kurt looked at him scathingly and said: "Exactly what part of that do you think _doesn't_ constitute a good time for me?"

Now it was Blaine's turn to laugh. "You're so weird," he said, and brought his arm up so he could grab hold of the hand Kurt had resting on his chest and tangle their fingers together.

"And you are so not one to talk," Kurt said, sounding kind of crazily happy about that. He was quiet for a second, just resting his lips against the base of Blaine's throat before he said: "Like I told you before, I'm glad I'm with you tonight. Even if it's not at prom."

"Me too," Blaine said, working his free arm underneath and around Kurt's body so he could pull him in tighter. "Even if it did mean my cardigan collection took a beating. I'm really gonna miss that green one."

"If in one week you can even still tell me what colour it was, I'll let you have it back."

"That's generous of you," Blaine said, amused.

Kurt hummed peaceably and shifted over a bit, his weight coming to rest against Blaine's side a little more heavily. He pressed his face into the curve of Blaine's neck, kissing him there and then again on the line of his jaw and the point of his chin, the tip of his nose and then, finally, the bow of his lip. Blaine had closed his eyes and was letting Kurt's touches lull him into a heady doze when Kurt arched up against him pointedly and breathed out: "I've changed my mind, by the way, we can do this as much as you like."

Blaine laughed a little at that and opened his eyes again. "Thought you said you didn't want to sleep through prom night?" he said, teasing.

"I don't," Kurt said with a grin, and if Blaine didn't already know perfectly well what Kurt was suggesting, that smile and the downright dirty way Kurt kissed him would have made things clear enough.

.

Later, when Finn texted them both to recount how prom had basically descended into a full-on slushie war after Coach Sylvester had crowned herself as both Prom King and Queen, Blaine laughed and said: "I'm a little sorry to have missed that."

Kurt curled his arm around Blaine's side again and pressed in tight. "I'm not," he said, softly.

Blaine smiled and let his body fit into place alongside Kurt's, just breathing in the closeness of him; here, in Blaine's bed, with the lights low and the door tight shut, lips near enough to kiss and skin warm and soft and familiar against Blaine's.

"Yeah," Blaine said. "Me either."


End file.
